I walk along the way
like a zilch under a fig tree
there is a moment of clarity
as i hatch the eggs
of sundry loose ends
i talk once and maybe more
out of the machines
running wild inside
my remaining veins
how can i be smaller
when i drive to Sin City
how can i be bigger
when i share a heart for free
how can i be a grinch
when i utter the rots and clots
of my angry throat
how can i be beautiful
when i see all like squares
how can i be enough
when i fill others'
empty bottles
how much numbers can tell
if i have no one
but myself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem